A Grammy award-winning audio book producer/director celebrates the most incredible instrument of all:
the human voice.

Paul Alan Ruben

Wednesday, May 21, 2014

APAC: what to expect of you’re expecting

APAC is rapidly approaching. If
you’re attending this year, or wish you were, or happily aren’t, or—like the
narrators who’ve solicited me because they’re uncertain if this conference’s
promise is sufficient compensation for their travel, room and board—you are
still undecided, it might be useful to interrogate your APAC-expectations in
order to parse the probable from the possible, the wishful from the downright
magical.

Arguably, however a narrator
judges APAC’s fundamental worth, the determination to attend, or not, is also
likely to be arbitrated by uniquely personal concerns. Ultimately, what’s
efficacious for one narrator may be misguided for another. That said, I can
certainly investigate my reasons to attend, and hope that what I deduce—albeit
anecdotally and less than rigorously—has at least some application for others.

Reflexively, I begin with
self-interest. And maybe that’s where I should end. Or maybe not.

And as I delve into that
somewhat tiring cliché, perhaps self-interest is worth examining in order to
arrive at a more precise and coherent definition, at least for me. After all,
self-interest is the first reason that came to mind.

Self-interest: a kind of
definition

I’ll define my self—who
I am—as an unknowable source of mystery to me that houses, among other enigmas,
an opaque agglomeration of subconscious and conscious desires. I’ll suggest
that at least some of those desires could be regarded as interests (maybe
needs). Thinking reductively about next week’s conference, I believe that my
interests are twofold: professional and social.

Professional

My professional interests are
served by networking with publishers who may employ me, and engaging narrators
I may eventually have the opportunity to direct or teach. Clearly, money is a
significant component of, or even a euphemism for, professional self-interest.
Therefore, attending a gathering of people who may be predisposed to solicit my
professional services is one meaningful measure of APAC’s appeal.

Aside from money, interacting
with peers, colleagues and industry professionals at APAC fulfills a
professional yearning to be recognized and appreciated by those very people.
I’ll be speaking on a panel this year, and that privilege (despite my pique at
being compelled to fork over a discounted registration fee for that
privilege—seriously?!) permits me to share my experience and expertise with
attendees. Professional recognition is rewarding; it engenders in me a feeling
of appreciation, self-esteem and self-worth. I am truly flattered that the
people I work with deem my thoughts about audiobook performance worthy of
public dissemination.

Social

Since my well-being is not
wholly dependent on or dictated by what I earn from producing/directing and
teaching, the benefit I accrue from schmoozing publishers who might employ me,
or actors who might solicit me to teach, isn’t enough to ensure I’ll attend.
But connecting to narrators (many of whom I have an un-abiding affinity for)
and industry professionals (many of whom I deeply respect and have known for
what feels like a century) is more than enough to keep me from missing this
annual conference.

The more I contemplate social,
the more I associate my existential eggs with engaging narrators: They are the
heart, the soul, the reason audiobooks exist. I feel a shared sense of purpose
with narrators, especially those I’ve directed and coached. I am aware of their
aspirations as performers; I enjoy being privy to their hopes and desires that
emerge subtly, bubbly, deferentially, often with aplomb, and sometimes with the
nuance of a police siren. I am sensitive to a performer’s solicitous discourse,
whose surface language shrouds oscillating vulnerability, but evinces passion
and humanity. I percolate in front of that humanity. I revel in the often
brief, but coalescing encounters that communicate respect, commonality and,
yes, self-interest: a quick hug, a too-hyperbolic resume review, forced
admiration proffering, jocular barbs meant to bond and reflect appreciation.
It’s all good: I get it, and I enjoy the exchanges.

The more I evaluate these duel
self-interests, the higher the priority I assign to social, which sounds kind
of like a squishy pejorative: ephemeral and vacuous. Too close to socializing
for comfort. But socializing works for me, especially the particular kind of
socializing I’d call Johnny Hellering: high-octane, verbal twerking on
helium. Of course, I am rewarded by more prosaic palaver with familiar
narrators and those newly introduced: It’s never enough of a good thing. The
sum of these interactions—even while I feel like a hurtling pinball bouncing
from one networking attendee to another—more than compensates for the discount
I’m compelled to pay this year.

Oh, sure, there’s a bunch of
things that annoy me about APAC. I have complaints—maybe not galore, but I have
‘em. Serious misgivings. But obviously, they aren’t keeping me at home, are
they.

Stepping deeper into APAC, and
what’s-in-it-for-me, I’m more certain now than when I began this post that when
I greet the first of the many narrators that have rewarded me with their work
and kindness and friendship over the past couple of decades (Sorry, Aunt
Mary—always the exception), the primary reason I attend APAC will clearly
reveal itself.

***

I recently finished working
with the talented narrator (and former workshop participant) Sandy Rustin, and
will continue in June with Elizabeth Ashley, who is narrating John Lahr’s meaty
and fascinating biography of Tennessee Williams. And coming up, a book with
veteran narrator and former workshop member, Caitlin Davies.

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About Me

Paul Ruben has produced and directed award-winning audio books for every major publisher since 1987.
Grammy awards (Best Spoken Word Album) include: Lies and the Lying Liars Who Tell Them (2003) written and narrated by Al Franken; Always Looking Up (2009), written and narrated by Michael J. Fox. Industry Audie awards include: It’s Not About the Bike (Narrator: Oliver Wyman), Raymond and Hannah (multi-cast featuring David LeDoux/Kathleen McInerney), The World is Flat (Narrator: Oliver Wyman), A Slight Trick of the Mind (Narrator: Simon Jones).
Paul has a B.A. degree in Theatre and Philosophy (Yankton College), an MA in theatre (Bowling Green State U.), and has directed numerous regional and summer theatre productions. He has contributed feature articles on audio book narration to Audiofile Magazine. In 2005 Paul was elected to the Audio Publishers Association Board of Directors. He currently teaches narration to professional talent. For more information visit: www.tribecaaudio.com